


Mechanical (/Impulse Control) Failure

by heyreadysteadygo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Humor/Romance, Set sometime between 3x04 and 3x05, canon compliant (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyreadysteadygo/pseuds/heyreadysteadygo
Summary: It's getting harder for Clarke to control herself around Lexa, so of course they end up stuck in an elevator together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> That fake summary for 3x08 was so hilarious, I just had to. It started a little cracky, but a few feels managed to squirrel their way in. This ship has taken over my life.

 

They're stuck in the elevator.

It's almost too stupid to believe, but here they are, suspended somewhere between floors twenty-one and twenty-two (she thinks) in Lexa's ridiculously tall tower. And Clarke would probably be handling it a little better if Lexa weren't so infuriatingly  _calm_  about it.

"The wheel breaks down from time to time. It will not take long to fix."

As if that changed the fact that they were still stuck  _hundreds of feet above ground._

"We are in no danger of falling. There are several fail-safes to prevent just that."

Well, at least she was being kind and thoughtful and reassuring.

"...Are you uncomfortable with heights, Clarke kom Skaikru?"

Clarke withdrew her generous compliment. Lexa was a sarcastic little shit.

* * *

It takes approximately four and a half steps from one end of the platform to the other, which makes pacing a little bit awkward, but Clarke stubbornly keeps at it. Lexa stands nonchalantly smack dab in the middle, weight canted to one leg, hands clasped patiently at the small of her back. There's a slight, constant breeze lazily fluttering the long coattails of her jacket, and Clarke can't help the way her eyes keep stealing peeks at the sharp, neat edges of Lexa's form.

She can't pinpoint exactly what it is about it, but she's maybe just a little bit obsessed with Lexa's coat.

It's tailored so perfectly to slim shoulders, cinches so snugly to a trim waist, and flares so dramatically to the floor (and that part really kills her, because you'd think Grounders were utilitarian and all about the practical but no, here Lexa is, Commander of all thirteen clans, swishing and swanning about in an ankle length coat with something suspiciously like ruffles running up and down the sleeves).

And sometimes, with alarmingly increasing frequency, Clarke finds her fingers twitching against the desire to just hook under that one strap buckled over her chest and  _pull_.

(She briefly recalls that time she backed Lexa into a table, and it wasn't exactly a moment she was  _proud_  of because she had scratched and dug and clawed at Lexa's confidence, tore into walls she really had no right to dismantle, but the hitch in Lexa's throat as she was cornered still sends a guilty little flare of arousal curling in the pit of her stomach.)

It's like an unsatisfied itch, this urge to  _handle_  Lexa. She's not quite sure why. Was it the intrigue of seeing someone so  _strong,_  so in control and commanding be meekly led around? Or was it the forbidden little thrill at the knowledge that Lexa would never allow such an indignity, unless it was Clarke?

Clarke paced faster, as if she could outrun the thoughts swirling through her mind. Despite her efforts, she was well on the way to forgiving Lexa, and with every little block that fell from the barricade protecting her heart her attraction to the other woman kept surging up through the cracks in rushes of affection and lust. It was already starting to become a problem, because just the other night Lexa had sat in her room all soft and pretty with her hair down and wearing a  _fucking_   _nightgown_  with a  _slit_  all the way up her thigh and then, after a day of blood and fighting she chose  _peace_  and Clarke had basically thrown Lexa out of her room before she kissed her.

"How are you finding Polis?"

Clarke paused mid-step, pulled harshly from her inner thoughts, and blinked owlishly at the random question. "What? Polis?"

Lexa tilted her chin vaguely in the direction of the outer wall. "You have had some time to explore the city?"

When Clarke didn't respond, Lexa shifted uneasily on her feet. "You would enjoy the day markets, I think. If you have not been, I could take you. Tomorrow. Perhaps for lunch."

Clarke stared some more. If Lexa was the type to squirm, she would be. "Of course if you wanted to explore on your own, that would be fine as well. I can have your guards show you the way."

"You want to take me to the day markets." Her voice came out a little blunt and disbelieving, but to be fair, she was relatively certain Lexa has just asked her out on a date. And then chickened out of asking her out on a date. "Why?"

Lexa shifted again. Definitely nervous. "Like I said, I think you might enjoy them."

"No, I meant why ask  _now?_ " Clarke swept her arm out in an all-encompassing gesture. "When we're stuck in an  _elevator?_ "

"...Is there a reason not to?"

Clarke let her gaze sharpen into a glare, and imperiously crossed her arms. "You don't do small talk, Lexa."

Lexa sighed then. "I'm not sure what you mean by that," her shoulders slumped a bit in defeat. "But I thought you would like to talk of something else to take your mind from this...predicament."

Well damn. Lexa was just being so  _sweet_  and  _considerate_  and frankly, it was really starting to make Clarke's head spin, because the rigidity of Lexa's perfect posture, arms folded firmly behind her back like she was carved from marble screamed  _keep your distance_ , but the impossible softness in her eyes and the nervous quiver at her throat begged  _come closer,_  and the juxtaposition of it all was really trying her patience and made her want to  _jump her_  like some sort of horny teenager. (Which she  _was,_  but Clarke had always prided herself on her self-control, and there were more important things to do than hump unfairly attractive Commanders.)

Okay, so maybe her obsession wasn't  _all_  about the coat. But as long as Lexa was willing...

"Actually, I do have a question."

Lexa nodded, torso leaning ever so slightly forward, and Clarke almost forgot what she wanted to ask when she realized just how  _focused_  the other woman was. There was something - not quite unnerving - about the singular intensity she always seemed to regard Clarke with, like everything else around them simply ceased to exist. After spending so long - since finding out about the oxygen problems on the Ark, since landing on the ground - fighting and screaming to be  _heard,_  it still threw her that this one woman in a position of so much status and power would give her such undivided attention…

Well. It was nice.

She cleared her throat. "At the summit…"

Lexa nodded again, encouraging.

"...Why was there a woman singing?"

Lexa froze, face blanking. Clarke raised an eyebrow.  _Now that's an interesting expression._  Or non-expression, as it were. The silence dragged on, and every second Lexa didn't answer Clarke was more and more convinced she was internally panicking or something.

Or having a stroke.

She was on the verge of stepping in to check Lexa's pupils when the other woman finally moved, back straightening and jaw clenching. Clarke would have thought her angry if it weren't for the studious way Lexa was avoiding her gaze. Or the way she mumbled. That really piqued Clarke's interest. Lexa  _never_  mumbled. She chose her words with care and nuance, and spoke them with eloquence and precision. Clarke had never met anyone with such exacting pronunciation in her life (and  _no,_  that  _absolutely did not_  make her more attractive.  _At all_ ).

"Say again?"

Lexa barely managed to look her in the eye. "It's ceremony. When we welcome a new clan into the coalition."

Clarke stared. Lexa practically vibrated where she stood.  _That was such a lie._  "Uh huh. Well, if that's what it's like for a political ceremony, your personal ones must be a real show."

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but was Lexa  _blushing?_  Clarke's fingers twitched.

Lexa tugged (a bit anxiously, Clarke thought) at the collar of her jacket, and Clarke zeroed in on her hand with a frown. A long step forward and she nabbed her wrist, ignoring the startled little huff as she pulled Lexa's arm, eying the bandage still wrapped around her palm. Small dark splotches dotted the center, and Clarke shook her head in disapproval. "You're bleeding again. You're supposed to take it easy. It'll never heal at this rate."

Soft breath caressed her cheek, and Clarke stiffened when she realized how close they were.

"There is too much to do to 'take it easy.'"

Clarke risked a glance up and was immediately met with Lexa's gray-green gaze. It dropped ever so slightly, and Clarke reflexively wet her lips, heat rising to her cheeks when those eyes darkened in response.

The platform suddenly shuddered and jerked into motion, sending Clarke stumbling in surprise. Only a firm grip at her elbow and waist kept her from falling over, but Clarke barely noticed that because all she could feel was the solid warmth of a body pressed against her, all she could see was wide, earnest eyes, all she could smell was pine and leather and  _Lexa._

It might have been better if Lexa had just let her fall on her ass because the urge to  _touch_  came roaring back, and as Lexa stepped away to give her space after she found her balance Clarke blindly, unthinkingly,  _stupidly_  reached out and latched onto that tempting chest strap on that dumb, overly fussy coat and  _yanked._

Lexa was clearly not expecting that and with a yelp they crashed together, tripping backwards until Clarke's back slammed against the wall.

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Lexa fit against her like a glove, hips and thighs molded to her own. Forearms braced themselves on either side of her head, faces alarmingly close as their noses brushed.

Too much too fast  _too close_  ran like a mantra through her mind, yet Clarke's fingers had frozen where they gripped at Lexa's coat, refusing her the chance to back away. Lexa's eyes were the widest she'd ever seen them, the green in them slivered into the thinnest brightest rings. And the way they darted over her face, searching her eyes, skimming over her nose, her cheekbones, her lips, leaving an almost tangible heat in their wake…

Clarke had a feeling she was about to do something else very,  _very_  stupid.

Her chin was just tilting up when the elevator screeched to a halt, jostling them from their trance. Clarke released Lexa like she had been burnt, and Lexa immediately retreated, eyes dropping to the floor.

"Sorry," Clarke managed to rasp out. "I didn't mean to-sorry."

Lexa nodded jerkily. "No." It came out like a croak, and Lexa was  _definitely_  blushing. "No, I should have warned you. Restarting the elevator can be...jarring."

"Oh. Right."

They stood awkwardly, mired in tension. And they would have continued to aimlessly stand there if a guard hadn't appeared at the elevator entrance.

"Heda?"

And just like that Lexa was Commander, spine ramrod straight, face an impenetrable mask. And it should have repelled her, but Clarke could see past her armor, past her skin to the woman underneath, and it sent Clarke's fingers twitching anew.

"Lunch."

Lexa stopped in her tracks, halfway off the platform. Her head turned just enough for Clarke to make out the sharp cut of her jawline, the curve of her cheek. "Lunch?"

Clarke let the corner of her lip curl into a smile. "Tomorrow. The day market?"

"Of course." Lexa gave a sharp nod. "I will see you tomorrow." She finally turned, meeting Clarke's gaze, eyes soft as ever. "Good night, Clarke."

"Good night, Lexa."

There was the barest hint of a smile and then Lexa was striding away, a noticeable bounce in her step. Clarke leaned back against the wall, letting her head fall back with a thunk, fighting to keep her own smile from turning into a full blown grin.

"...Ambassador?"

Clarke blinked. The guard stared at her, and she realized she was still lingering in the elevator like an idiot. "Uh, right. Sorry. Night." And with a blush high on her cheeks, she scurried out towards the relative safety of her room. It wasn't until she had shut the door behind her that she realized exactly what she had planned with Lexa the next day. She buried her face in her hands.  _Oh shit._  She had a lunch date with the Commander. Whom she was having trouble being around while withholding herself from attacking her face. With her own face.

_I'm so screwed._

 

_fin._


End file.
